


You Could Have Been Perfect

by diningwithpsychopaths



Category: Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types, Red Dragon - Thomas Harris
Genre: Lecter gets to touch the scar he gave will basically, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-11
Updated: 2013-08-11
Packaged: 2017-12-23 04:18:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/921907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/diningwithpsychopaths/pseuds/diningwithpsychopaths
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hannibal Lecter has escaped and pays a visit to Will Graham, curious as to what he looks like and eager to get a look at his own design upon the former special agent.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Could Have Been Perfect

Hannibal walks through the over-grown grass towards a small, shabby house in the middle of a desolate little field. There are some trees dotted among the landscape, bent by the harsh ocean winds from the coast a few miles away; the sort of place a man goes to die. The harsh scent of the ocean mixed in with rotted grass and wood fills Hannibal and there is also a tinge of gunpowder wafting on the air along with whiskey, dog, and an awful cologne that probably has a little ship on the bottle.  
The stairs creak beneath Hannibal's weight and the man can hear someone picking up something from the ground and the faint cock of a trigger along with the aggressive barks of dogs. A small grin plays upon Lecter's mouth and he pushes aside the screen door and then the front door. The barking grows hostile once Hannibal enters the house but no dog assaults him, though one dog, older than the rest, shuffles forward, and noses at the pressed dress slacks the man wears as if hoping for a treat. Hannibal ignores the mutt and when it realizes that there will be no treat it settles down next to the man with a whine.  
The room is cast in shadows despite it being high-noon, the drapes lazily drawn together so that a few rays of sunshine come through the slits between the curtains, casting the dark spots of the room into more obscurity behind a sheen of opaque shimmer. Hannibal can hear the creak of an old arm chair and the smell of that awful cologne along with gunpowder, dog, and whiskey becomes more prominent.  
“Dr. Lecter.”  
“Hello my dear Will.”  
Hannibal's eyes adjust to the shadows of the room quicker than normal and soon a blob directly in front of the door shapes nicely into an ugly armchair and a man, or at least someone resembling a man. The body is that of a man in his mid-forties slowly wasting away from too much alcohol and poorly made food but it was the face that could wrench a gasp or flinch from any normal person. Hannibal Lecter, however, merely raises an eyebrow as the messy work done with the face.  
Will Graham takes in Hannibal Lecter, the shotgun in his arms not relaxing, though his finger lets up on the trigger. Despite his alcoholism he is still quick when it comes to unwanted guests, which now-a-days is everyone.  
“Are you going to shoot me Will?”  
“I'm still thinking about it.”  
The words came out a bit garbled as if Will has a few marbles in his mouth, his good eye winces slightly every time his gash of a mouth moves, the elongated right side of his mouth stretching horribly as it longs to open with his lips.  
“You are still wearing that abhorrent cologne. I do believe I have sent you something much more pleasing.”  
“I've never been the type to please,” Will sneers, though his shoulders relaxes some as he slips back into the too familiar banter. Hannibal notices this and takes a step forward into a spot of light. The old dog at his feet raises its head in curiosity but then places it back down after realizing there will still be no treat. The four other dogs which stand in front of Will are still on alert but sensing that Will is relaxing they too begin to calm down and one even goes to his side.  
“I wouldn't say that. I remember a time when you were quite eager to please.”  
Will appears to grimace, his face becoming more distorted in the process, the left slit where his eye had to be began to look a bit moist.  
“Why are you here Doctor?”  
“I missed you Will.”  
Will snorts and finally lays his shotgun down in his lap, though his hands still grip it. It is sooner than Hannibal had anticipated but he stays where he stands, the light surrounding him making him appear almost like a benevolent angel come to kill.  
“Are you sure you just haven't come here to finish the job. Someone tried to as you can see by my face, but it looks like I really was yours all along.”  
Hannibal's grin cannot help but turn into an almost smile and he does step forward again, only three steps away from Will. He is back in the shadows and his eyes nearly disappear between his prominent cheek bones and noble eyebrows, the hollowing a side-effect from prison, but two maroon pinpricks can still be seen taking in Will Graham and the man shifts a bit under the gaze.  
“You will always be beautiful to me Will.”  
A harsh laugh comes from the gruesome gash that is Will's mouth and a single tear squeezes past the his left eye slit. “Don't fuck with me Dr. Lecter.”  
“I would never, my dear Will.” Hannibal reaches forward and Will tenses as his fingers twitch around the shotgun but he does not raise it. His paranoia is unwarranted, however, as Hannibal reaches only for the almost empty bottle of Jack Daniels on the tiny table beside the worn armchair. As Hannibal leans close to Will the younger man can smell him, spicy and warm, and it makes Will want to bury his face into the deep blue and purple plaid suit jacket and inhale as much as he can before he dies. The thought makes the scar on Will's abdomen and hip twitch and he tightens his fingers around the shotgun even more to resist scratching at it.  
“My liver is all but ruined,” Will says almost proudly as Lecter straightens up after having set down the bottle.  
Hannibal raises an eyebrow once more and takes in how tightly the younger man grips the shotgun. He moves a fraction closer, half of his face illuminated, his eyes focused on Will's chest and is pleased to see it begin to rise and fall with more speed than when Lecter first walked in. They both know that Hannibal wasn't interested in Will's liver, but it's the thought that counts.  
“Does your scar hurt much?” Hannibal asks softly.  
“Every damn time I talk, hell I can't even open my eyes without wincing, but the alcohol helps.”  
“I did not mean your face.”  
Subconsciously the fingers of Will's right hand slide from the shot gun to his abdomen as if to protect it. This makes Lecter hiss slightly and Will closes his eyes as if in pain.  
“May I touch it.”  
“No.”  
The dogs near Will, which have lain down on either side of his chair, begin to growl softly but Hannibal does not back away.  
“Do you still dream of me Will?”  
“Just finish this already Doctor,” Will whispers and opens his eyes, the right one bright and hazy. Hannibal reaches forward and Will presses the gun against the scar beneath his clothes, the scar that is burning for a comforting touch to soothe it.  
Hannibal's fingers instead graze his left cheek, lightly running over the fat swells of various deep scars that cannot be covered by Will's coarse facial hair, and then going over his one left nostril, sliding down to the ridges of his other cheek. Will's eyes close again and the corners of his eye and slit becomes wet. Hannibal frowns slightly at how uninspired the scars are, how boring and slapdash they arrange Will's once handsome face.  
“Please Hannibal,” he whispers against the soft tips of Hannibal's fingers and Lecter makes the last step forward so that he is between Will's spread knees.  
“Let me touch my design.”  
Will shivers and Hannibal is able to take the gun from Will's grip; he then unbuttons his jacket and kneels. The hand on Will's lips trails down his neck, briefly taking note of his elevated pulse, and then begins to unbutton the plaid shirt Will wears, his jacket already opened. There is a dingy white undershirt beneath the plaid and after Hannibal pushes the jacket and the button-up off Will's shoulders, making it awkward for the scarred man to move his arms in a jerk reaction, his pushes up the last barrier of clothing.  
The scar is still slightly raised and agitated looking as if Will has continually messed with it, that or it is simply reacting to its creator's presence, but either way it is lovely, its blush like a scared virgin in bed with her husband for the first time and the way it seems to raise with Will's jagged breaths as if eager to be stroked makes Hannibal practically preen. It runs down the length of Will's abdomen and disappears beneath the waist band of his pants. Hannibal smiles then and runs his finger's down the long track of scar and when he reaches Will's pants he simply reaches over and unbuttons them, pulls down the zipper and then places both hands on Will's hips. He glances up to see Will looking down at him, his right eye half lidded and his brutalized mouth open, the lips moist. Hannibal eases down Will's pants and boxers, Will even lifting his hips slightly to help, and Hannibal stops when they are halfway down Will's thighs and keeping Will's penis, which is stirring slightly, down.  
Hannibal can feel Will's blood, swift in his veins and he inhales the heat coming off of him, and it drowns out, just for a moment, the bitter smell of whiskey, cologne, gunpowder, and dog. The finger's of Hannibal's left hand trail up the scar as his right hand holds down Will's left hip. The smell of arousal and fear heightens and Lecter leans his face forward, his lips ghosting up and down the scar as Will lets out a gasp and then a tiny moan.  
“You are mine,” Hannibal growls softly and presses his mouth closer and parts his lips to lick the elongated scar from bottom to tip. He takes his time to savor the sweat, the feel of the scar so pliant and eager beneath his tongue, even twitching slightly as it is aroused into feeling by something other than nightmares and painful memories.  
“Please Hannibal,” Will pants and Hannibal smiles against the scar, his lips parting even more until his can lightly scrape his teeth against the agitated scar tissue. Will begins to moan but then Hannibal's teeth bite down harsh and demanding on Will's pudgy abdomen and Will's moan transforms into a pained scream; his hips try to buck up but Hannibal holds him down firmly. Trickles of blood run down Hannibal's teeth and he presses his teeth in a bit further before beginning to lap up the sweet, fevered blood.  
Wills face in contorted in pain by now and he looks like something Picasso would have painted whilst plagued by the agony of a one-sided love, but Hannibal does not look at it and instead begins to kiss and bite at the scar until it is all bloody and torn up. Hannibal knows that it would have never healed before, but now there will be a few more little scars for Will's body to remember.  
When Hannibal pulls away his lips shine in the darkness and there are smudges of blood all around his smiling mouth. Will is slumped in the armchair, his heart slowly calming and his fingers aching from gripping the back of Hannibal's head and he even has a hair splinter in his right pinkie from threading his fingers through the lightly gelled hair. He stares up at the ceiling, his cheeks wet and a thin line of his own blood on the curve beneath his bottom lip and his chin, the pain of his face is forgotten in lieu of the reopened scar that runs from his abdomen to his hip.  
Hannibal stands up and licks the fingers of his right hand as they had ghosted up the scar once more before he had risen and he takes in the sight of Will Graham. He is not smiling anymore and he smooths out his dark purple waist coat before buttoning up his suit jacket, and then cards his fingers through his disheveled hair to remove the strands from eyesight.  
“I have to go now Will,” he says as he begins to back away. Will tries to grab onto the sleeve of Hannibal's jacket but it too slow and he winces when his moves his torso.  
“Please, no.”  
“You could have been perfect Will,” Hannibal laments and glances at his wrist watch. He has time but it is never good form to over stay one's visit.  
“Hannibal,” Will chokes out and tears begin to well in his eyes. Hannibal sighs and crouches down before Will, wiping away the build up of tears even though he does not enjoy touching the botched work of the Pilgrim.  
“Shhhh Will, I have to go. Our relationship has run its course. You know this and so do I and it would be unfair to both of us to draw it out.”  
Will presses his face into Hannibal's hand just as he done back in Hannibal's dining room so many years ago and remembers the comfort, the safety.  
“You've lied to me before,” Will whispers and Hannibal gives a small grin at that.  
“Goodbye my dear Will, and thank you.”  
Will begins to cackle a little and Hannibal leans forward, his hands slipping from the messy work of Will's face to the pulse at his neck as he gives one last kiss to his still bleeding design.  
“Goodbye Dr. Lecter.”  
Hannibal stands up and gives Will a polite nod before walking away. Will's arm reaches over for the shotgun, Hannibal is walking slowly enough and there is time to show Lecter Will's design but his fingers curl up against his palm, empty and the door closes softly behind Hannibal.


End file.
